Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
GRAYSON
I’m leaning back against the bar with a glass of champagne in my hand, watching the party.
The rooftop bar glows against the New Orleans skyline.
String lights crisscross above our heads, tangled through rough wooden beams that make the space feel intimate despite the city sprawling endlessly beyond it.
Pop music thrums from speakers, and everywhere I look there are flushed faces and unguarded smiles.
The team are everywhere. Players dance with their partners.
Coaches nurse drinks and laugh with joy and relief.
Family members and friends make good on the free bar I’ve paid for.
There’s no hierarchy here tonight—no owners, no staff, no titles—just people who survived a season that nearly broke them and came out the other side with a trophy.
I’m a little tipsy. Not sloppy. Just… loose. Unwound in a way I rarely allow myself to be. I’ve lost count of the hugs and handshakes. I swear I’ve had more tonight than all the nights of my life put together. The Stormhawks needed this win. Hell, I needed it.
Donny bumps his shoulder into mine, grinning like an idiot, his tie long gone and his hair falling into his eyes. He shoves his phone in front of my eyes, and I groan at the sight of another meme of my face with cartoon devil horns, a red flaming fork in my hand.
“Just watch,” Donny says, tapping the screen.
The fork touches the Stormhawks logo, which bursts into cartoon flames. But instead of crumbling into nothing, the flames disappear to reveal the Super Bowl trophy.
“They still think I’m the devil?”
“A devil who delivers, though,” Donny replies. “This is good, man.”
I huff an easy laugh. “The sponsors will be happy. For a while, at least.”
Donny nods, sobering just enough for the truth beneath it to land.
We both know there are still contracts to renegotiate, trust to rebuild, long-term plans to put into place.
But with Flic’s help, I’ve convinced the Huberts and the management team that we need to start fresh.
Repeating old mistakes won’t help us out of this mess.
And for the first time, it feels possible.
“Got to be honest,” Donny says, swiping to another image. “I laughed pretty hard at that meme of the T-Rex eating you.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t the one behind it.” I chuckle.
He snorts, then his hand lands on my shoulder, grip firm. “Seriously though, man. Thank you. You did this.”
“I had nothing to do with what the team did out there,” I say automatically.
He smirks. “I saw your catching skills.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “The whole of Denver saw my catching skills.”
“But there’s no way this team plays like that if Ashborne Holdings was selling the turf out from under them,” Donny continues. “You saved us.”
I shake my head slowly. “I think you saved me, man.” And maybe it’s the champagne talking. Or the buzz of the win. But it’s how I feel. With this team, with these fans, with a passion that pulled me in, something has shifted.
Donny clears his throat, suddenly sheepish. “So… best friend to best friend. Your sister. How would you feel about me asking her out?”
I think for a moment before smiling. “I’d feel pretty damn good about it. She deserves someone who worships her, Donny. Someone who treats her like a queen.” I lift my glass. “If she agrees to go out with your sorry ass, I’m not going to be the one standing in the way.”
Donny’s grin is wide and boyish as he sidles away, already tapping furiously on his phone, like I’ve just handed him the best gift imaginable.
I take another sip of champagne and let my gaze drift across the room again, and this time, I land on one person. Flic. She catches my eye and then she’s striding toward me, stepping straight into my arms. Where she belongs.
I lean down, mouth brushing her ear. “I want you.”
Her grin is slow and wicked. “Then come with me.”
“Now?” I ask, already moving even as the question leaves my mouth.
“Now.”
She threads her fingers through mine and leads me through the crowd.
We slip into an empty corridor, her steps sure.
She seems to know exactly where she’s going.
She glances around once, checking the corridor is empty, then pushes open the door to the cloakroom and tugs me inside, shutting it behind us.
I laugh under my breath. “You realize anyone could walk in here and find us?”
She lifts her chin, eyes bright. “Makes it kinda exciting though, right?”
I don’t get the chance to answer. She presses my back against the wall, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that’s deep and unhurried.
Then her hands run down my body, across my abs until her fingers fumble with my belt and the button of my jeans.
I hiss as one hand wraps around my hardening dick and the other pulls me free.
Her eyes lock on mine, dark and hungry, her smile full of promise and desire as she drops slowly to her knees.
In seconds, her tongue is on me, swirling around my tip, teasing, enticing.
I groan, head tipping back, hands instinctively tangling in her ice-blonde braids as her mouth wraps around me.
She’s warm, wet, and everything I’ve ever dreamed of.
I barely breathe, all thoughts dropping out of my head as her lips slide down my length, taking me deeper.
Slowly, she draws back, and that tongue of hers licks and swirls, and I swear I see spots cross my vision.
Then she’s taking me again. Faster this time.
“Fuck.” The word leaves my mouth in a breathless hiss. My hips twitch forward, but I force myself to stay still, fighting the urge to thrust deeper. “You take me so well.”
She hums low in her throat, the vibration shooting straight through me, lighting a fire in my balls and out into my body.
I groan, my grip tightening in her hair.
Every nerve ending sparks as she continues to move.
I watch her take me, sliding her mouth all the way down until I’m hitting the back of her throat.
Then she opens her eyes and looks up at me.
That desire, that need to give me what I want, has me rasping out her name as I’m pushed so fucking close to the edge, it takes everything I have to hold back.
“I’m going to come,” I growl.
She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t slow down. Instead, she takes me deeper, her throat opening around me in a way that makes my knees buckle. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts. Her hands grip my thighs, her eyes holding my gaze, daring me to let go.
And so I do. I spill into her mouth with a groan that feels like it’s torn from the depths of my soul, my hands clutching her head as she takes every last drop, and the world blurs in and out of focus.
When she finally pulls back, releasing me with a pop, she looks up with a smirk that’s equal parts wicked and equal parts triumphant. “That,” she says, her voice husky, “is how you celebrate a win.”
I laugh, breathless and shaky, pulling her to her feet and crushing my mouth to hers. She tastes like me, like champagne, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “God, you’re incredible,” I murmur against her lips, my hands roaming her back, still trying to ground myself.
She grins, leaning into me, her hands resting on my chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Ashborne.”
The door handle rattles, and we both freeze, but no one comes in. Flic chuckles softly, her fingers brushing my cheek. “Close call,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I shake my head, still grinning like an idiot. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But what a way to go.”
I pull her close again, my lips brushing her ear. “Let’s get out of here before someone actually does walk in.”
We straighten our clothes quickly, her hand in mine as we slip back into the hallway. The party is still in full swing, music and laughter spilling out into the night air, but all I can focus on is the woman beside me, the way her fingers fit perfectly in mine, and the promise of what’s to come.